


Redneck Haunt Club

by imaginationtherapy



Category: Fantasy - Fandom, Ghost Hunters - Fandom, Supernatural, Vampires - Fandom, ghosts - Fandom
Genre: Crack Fic, Ghost Hunting, Ghosts, Mystery, Original Characters - Freeform, Supernatural - Freeform, Supernatural Creatures, Supernatural Elements, Vampires, honestly I don't know what I'm doing, kind of, louisianna
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-10-30 19:10:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17834444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginationtherapy/pseuds/imaginationtherapy
Summary: Every 6 years, the Smoking Man returns. Three people go missing, later to be reported dead by alligator attack. No one argues with the verdict. Until one year, Emmaline does.Or, my friends and I didn't get very far in a RPG, but the characters kinda grabbed my hand and ran away with me. Includes vampires, laughter, mystery, and some bad-assery.





	1. Oak Pont High, October 1971

**Author's Note:**

> Eternal thanks to my beta. She is the best.
> 
> I have no idea where this story will end up, but I do know that I will finish it. I am committed to these characters...mostly because they are holding me hostage.

Nobody teaches the children about the legends. Nobody admits that the legends even exist. They simply swirl around Oak Pont like the late night mists that cover the bayou. If you claim to have knowledge about the Smoking Man, you will be shushed like a child who claims they spotted a demon walking across the water. Most give up their trust in their own senses, rather than be branded a lunatic. The few that hang onto their memories usually have reasons to hide from their neighbors, and more than sanity to lose by overlooking. They never forget, storing their memories against time, but they never talk about him. Except for the one time that the janitor broke his silence. 

* * *

Emmaline seemed a perfectly ordinary girl when he saw her in the hallways, most days. She frequented the front office more than other students, but usually just for harmless pranks that apathetic teachers took offense to. He was surprised to learn that a few of her escapades had ended in boys with bleeding noses. With her perfect blonde curls swept back by pink ribbons, she looked far more southern belle than prodigy fighter. Apparently she had a temper and little patience for ignorance. As the school year wore on, Emmaline’s mischievous spirit was tempered by the redheaded Willow who held her hand in the halls when they thought no one was looking.  


He imagined that was why they were outside the school that night, sneaking a few private moments away from frowning chaperones. Oak Pont held deep prejudice towards anything connected with supernatural origins or teenage hormones. He imagined they certainly didn’t expect to find Emmaline’s 12 year old cousin Mae was skulking outside the high school dance. And he knew none of them expected the Smoking Man to snatch at Mae’s shoulders, knocking her to the ground.  


The janitor didn’t know what happened next. He had never been present when the Smoking Man sliced at his victims. Maury had only seen the aftermath; victims who looked like they had been attacked by an alligator, but whose remains bore an odour of burnt cypress. He had never heard testimony from one who witnessed the Smoking Man. Oak Pont’s residents had formed a pact of silence on the matter that preceded Maury’s arrival in town. He had filled in the gaps, however. It wasn’t the first time he had seen the aftermath of the Smoking Man.  


This time was different. This time, a feisty 16 year old girl witnessed the attack. A 16 year old girl--who refused to back down before bullies and adults--witnessed the murder of her cousin by an apparition of smoke clothed in a trench coat and trilby hat. Sixteen year old Emmaline was not going to be bullied into silence by the residents of Oak Pont. And centuries-old Maury wasn’t going to stand by and let the Smoking Man’s influence ruin another young life. So he found Emmaline crying in the hallway that next week. He told her that he believed her. He told her that the Smoking Man would kill again.  


And then he walked away and never returned to the school.


	2. Oak Pont Precinct: October 1977

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six years after witnessing the murder of her girlfriend's cousin, Mae, Willow starts her job at Oak Pont's tiny police station. She wasn't expecting the job to include so much squirrel counting. The night takes an unexpected turn when a missing person's report comes in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2!  
> Apologies for the delay, I had a several-day argument with a plot device.  
> Many, many thanks to my beta reader.  
> I hope to update on a biweekly basis. I'm trying to split my time between this fic and another. Send help, or coffee.

A heavy Russian accent rang through the halls of Oak Pont’s tiny police station as Willow hurried in for the night shift. Someone had upset Hilda.  


“I told you before, this not way to complete paperwork! Learn to file, or I will fit you into cabinet!” The grinding of a filing cabinet drawer followed, culminating in a crash as it was slammed home. “Is not my job!”  


“But whatever else are you for, if not for filing reports, Madame Hilda?” The velvety voice of Willow’s new partner could barely be heard, contrasting sharply with Hilda’s strident tones. Unfortunately, the charm of his sophisticated French accent was not working on Hilda tonight, and Willow winced as another drawer banged shut.  


Willow hastily tucked her red-gold hair up under her cap as she picked up her pace. This wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to intervene between her partner and the precinct’s night secretary (who doubled as dispatch). Hilda was feisty and opinionated, traits which intensified when she was bored. Willow was a rookie in terms of police work, but she had known Hilda for nearly 10 years. Her partner, while a veteran cop according to his files, had only recently transferred to Oak Pont and had little knowledge on the town’s most dangerous inhabitant: Hilda.  


When she finally made it to the dispatch room, Hilda was glowering mightily from behind her desk. Willow’s partner stood pressed against the wall, hands raised in a defensive gesture. Dark eyes shone out from under darker hair, and his pale skin seemed almost luminous in the dreary room.  


“Maury! I’ve been looking all over for you. It’s time to go on patrol,” Willow emphasised her final words through gritted teeth, trying to beckon her partner out of the room without being targeted by Hilda.  


“Ah, young Willow. Teach this man manners. I am not filing cabinet!” Hilda thumped the cabinet behind them. “Unless he want to meet cabinet, he file papers right way.”  


“And I keep trying to explain, I was not hired for filing papers,” Maury’s words were silky, but Willow knew they would only spark more of Hilda’s ire. Night shifts were never interesting, and the last thing they needed was a bored and angry Hilda.  


“Yes, well, I think that’s what rookies are for, isn’t that right, Hilda?” Willow babbled, reaching in to grab Maury by the arm and tuggin him towards the door. She continued to placate the secretary (and attempt to silence Maury) until they were safely out of Hilda’s hearing range. “You can’t talk to Hilda like that! At least three officers ended up in that filing cabinet because they messed up her filing system!”  


Maury gave her an unimpressed look as he straightened the sleeve of his uniform. “Mademoiselle Willow, your HIlda does not frighten me.”  


“Well, she should!” Willow hissed, glancing over her shoulder.  


Her partner shrugged, and pulled his hat low over his face. “Patrol, then, mon amie. Let us hope George did not leave his nutterbars in the car again. I detest the scent of peanut butter.”

 

* * *

Two hours later, Willow was tired of watching the squirrel outside of her window. She said as much to Maury, who perked up suddenly and looked out the window behind her.  


“Ah! Look! It is now two squirrels!” He paused, watching intently. “Sacre bleu! Never mind, only one. But now we have an alligator to add to our count, mon amie!”  


Willow groaned. She entered the police academy with the full intent of returning to Oak Pont to protect her town. She hadn’t expected to get stuck on the night shift counting squirrels.  


The radio crackled suddenly, startling the both of them.  


“I would love to say ‘patrol car one, do you hear’. But what would point be? We do not have ten patrol cars. We do not have even two patrol cars. We have one.” Hilda’s accent and sarcasm were unmistakable. “So, patrol car singular, do you hear?”  


“We copy, if that is what you mean,” Maury responded. “One does not ask if the receiver ‘hears’, Madame Hilda.”  
I do not know what you do in your past, Manseeur Maury, but in this place, I will make decisions on what to say on radio.” Hilda shot back. Willow rolled her eyes and snuggled down in her seat a bit. At least this was more interesting than the squirrels. “Now, you hear?”  


Willow picked up her radio. “We hear you, Hilda. Go ahead.” Maury raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment on Hilda’s deliberate mispronunciation of his title.  


“We have a person missing, reported by wife. Wants to file report with officer”  


Both Maury and Willow straightened in their seats. People didn’t go missing in Oak Pont unless they had gotten lost in the swamp, and the locals usually organized those search parties on their own. The five Oak Pont police officers couldn’t really do much in the hundreds of square miles of cypress and spanish moss.  


“What is the address, then?” Maury queried.  


“Hold,” Hilda barked. She never remembered to turn off her radio, and her voice could be heard shouting to someone else in the precinct. “What is address?!....Ah,” she returned to the radio. “546 North Cypress Street.”  


Willow reached into the glove box eagerly, grabbing the map that was located there and spreading it on the dash.  


Maury frowned at her. “There are 10 streets in this town, Mademoiselle Willow.”  


“But I just wanted to...I always...I like reading…” Willow sighed, enthusiasm ebbing. “Oh, alright.” She folded the map back into the glove compartment meekly.  


“That girl, she pay too much attention to police work. Not enough to nose on face. Would not be able to see tree in forest,” Hilda stated.  


“Forest for the trees,” Maury corrected.  


“What forest?” Hilda barked. “There are no forests on Cypress Street. You know where you are going, no? Do not talk like crazy man.”  


Maury sighed, looking suddenly ancient and exhausted, a resigned expression in his eyes. “Why do I bother?” He muttered. “Yes, Madame Hilda. We know where we are going. Is that all?”  


“That is all. Precinct out!” Hilda announced curtly.  


“Well, I suppose we’ll have to come back for those squirrels later, mon amie.” Maury commented dryly to Willow, moving to start the car. A shout startled both of them, until they realized Hilda had never cut the radio.  


“You better go home now! They will be there soon.”  


Willow groaned and clicked her radio off. Maybe she should move to New Orleans. 

 

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Willow and Maury sat in their patrol car, staring down the street as an elderly woman slowly fitted various keys into the lock at her door. Either the woman who reported her husband missing was nearly senile, or they had stumbled upon Oak Pont’s most elderly burglar. Frankly, Maury wouldn’t have been surprised had it been the latter. The woman finally managed to get one of the keys to work and she disappeared into the interior of the house. Maury waited until several lights had flickered on before he pulled into the driveway. Willow jumped out of the car and raced to the open doorway before Maury could stop her. Sighing, he slipped out of the driver’s seat and silently followed her to the house. He merely rolled his eyes when he heard the elderly woman shriek from surprise at unexpectedly encountering a police officer in her home. Some days, the mortals severely tested his patience.  


Maury entered to find both Willow and the woman in hysterics. He stared unblinking at the two of them, wondering why he ever decided to step into a policeman’s shoes in a one-patrol-car town. When the women’s shrieking had subsided to mutual apologies, Maury finally stepped in.  


“Pardon, madame, we do not mean to intrude. My associate was afraid we had seen someone entering your house without your permission, and reacted somewhat hastily.” Maury glared at Willow. “We were told something of a missing persons at this address?”  


The woman calmed instantly upon Maury’s speech, hands still raised in fear. Her eyes narrowed as they swept over Maury’s uniform, and he got the distinct impression he was being ogled. By a mortal young enough to have been his great-great-great granddaughter, at least! That was not the reaction he had expected.  


“Ah! Oh, yes, yes, my husband! Sven! He...he went out, last night. And….oh, I simply must fetch a cup of tea. My nerves, they can’t take such a fright.” The woman slipped back into hysterics, rather expertly, Maury thought.  


“Oh, ma’am, that won’t be necessary--” Willow began, trying to dissuade the lady from her mission. Her plea went unheard, and Maury and Willow were left standing in the middle of the woman’s living room. Willow turned to Maury, eyes wide. “The door was open, I was afraid she had fallen or something and when I peaked my head in, she just started screaming!”  


The girl had a kind heart, if nothing else. Maury shook his head. “It is alright, though you should learn caution, mon amie. I think she may not be quite as afraid as she pretends. But let us wait to hear what she has to say.”  


A few moments later the woman returned, somehow managing to carry three cups of tea. She handed one to Maury with a rather lecherous grin, and one to Willow with a beguiling smile. Maury glared down into his cup, wondering exactly how he was going to “drink” it; there were no potted plants within reach.  
Once they had all taken a seat on the aging, mismatched furniture, Willow took out her pen and notebook.  


“Now, ma’am, could you tell us your name?”  


“Georgina. Georgina Rolf. My husband, Sven has gone missing, you see. That’s why I went down to the station.” The old woman took a sip of her tea, and turned wide, innocent-looking eyes to Maury. “He’s never been gone like this. Not once.”  


“Could you tell us what happened, then?” Willow prompted.  


“Yes, yes, see, he often went wandering about the swamp out back. I’ve no idea what for, the man seemed to enjoy the mud and the cypress. Always came back quite pleased with his meanderings.” Georgina paused to slurp her tea. “And last night, he went out as usual---always did like to go towards evening, the fool. He went out, and I could see his light for a while. Then I heard something – a scream. Oh, it was horrible, just curdled my blood!” She broke off with a loud sob, setting her cup down with a clatter.  


Willow reached over to awkwardly pat Georgina on the back, glancing over to Maury with a panicked expression. “What do I do!” she mouthed.  


Maury frowned, motioning her to continue her comforting ministrations. The complexities of human emotions always confused him, even after three hundred years. He found it best to appear exasperated and let the nearest mortal deal with consoling. He took advantage of the moment to pour some of his tea into Willow’s cup, which was nearest to him.  


Finally, Georgina calmed down, sniffling slightly and casting an surreptitious glance towards Maury. “I’m sorry, it’s just, such a shock. To not have him here.”  


“It’s quite alright, we’re used to this reaction,” Willow lied, somehow managing to look sincere. “Now, can you tell us if you noticed anything in the swamp when you heard the scream? Did you see anyone?”  


The fear that flashed on Georgina’s face was genuine, and Maury was instantly on alert. He had seen fear like that before, on the faces of mortals who had danced with demons and survived.  


“I saw...smoke. In the swamp.” Georgina whispered. “Not a mist, mind you. Smoke. But nothing ever burns back there…” She trailed off and an eerie silence enveloped the room, each occupant finding themselves lost in their own memories of inexplicable smoke and fear.  


“Patrol car, do you hear?” Hilda’s voice sliced through their reveries. “Patrol car! Body has been found down--”  


Willow switched off her radio quickly. “I’ll answer her. Outside... I’ll be outside. To answer. Hilda.” Willow jumped up and dashed out of the room.  
Maury watched her leave with narrowed eyes. Six years ago, she had given in to Oak Pont’s lies, replacing her memories with a blurred face, sharp claws with knives, and cypress-smoke with evening fog. Her insistence that Mae had been murdered by an ordinary killer had been the birth of her desire to be a peace-officer.  


Maury shook his head sadly, turning back to Georgina. He guessed that the body Hilda mentioned might turn out to be Sven, in which case they would need a description. He inquired after one, and Georgina drew her eyebrows together in thought.  


“Well, he was from one of those northern countries. Quite dashing. Golden hair, that he had. And he was….very well endowed.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively at that.  


Maury coughed awkwardly. “Could you tell me, madame, how old is your husband?”  


“Ah, let’s see. He was thirty-five, last month,” she announced proudly, as if describing an award won for best seafood gumbo.  


Past tense, once again, Maury noted. An interesting choice of words for a man only missing 24 hours. And an interesting age for a man married to an octogenarian. He said none of this, merely nodding and inquiring after any friends or enemies. Georgina informed him that Sven had no enemies that she was aware of and usually spent his evenings at the Fish Inn Bar and Grille. She couldn’t name any of his friends.  


“And how long have you been married,” Maury asked, nodding towards a frantically-waving Willow outside.  


“Ah, only about 2 years now,” Georgina smiled sadly. “It wasn’t so long after my Marcus died, that Sven found me. My savior.”  


“Marcus?” Maury inquired.  


“My husband,” Georgina announced proudly, motioning to a picture on the wall behind her. Maury’s eyes widened as he noted the wall held 6 wedding photos, all of them Georgina’s.  


“Sacre bleu! How many husbands have you had?!” Just when Maury was certain he had seen all of that humanity had to throw at him, someone like Georgina Rolf showed up and proved him wrong.  


“Oh, round about 6. I had a good 13 beaus when I was younger.” That lecherous grin was back, and Maury stood up rather too quickly for politeness.  


“Euh, and what happened to your previous marriages, madame?”  


“Well, let’s see. I do believe Fredrick left me for the babysitter--it wasn’t our baby, the neighbors, and Adam robbed a bank. I think he’s still in jail for that, but I divorced him so I wouldn’t know. Reginald decided to wrestle an alligator over a bet and was never the same afterwards.” Georgina held up her fingers, as if to count the men she had “lost”. “Oh, and Thomas disappeared about 12 years ago. We finally decided he was either dead or insane and I married Marcus. He choked on a catfish bone, and then I met dear Sven in New Orleans.” She smiled with what Maury suspected to be feigned innocence. “They were all delightful men. And now I’m left all alone again, unless you can find my poor Sven.” She fluttered her thinning eyelashes at Maury and he decided he needed to leave before he ended up on Georgina’s wall of male trophies.  


“Yes, yes, madame, we will do our best. We will, euh, be calling you should we find anything.” Maury beat a hasty retreat out of the house, not daring to breathe until he was safely in the car.  


Willow jumped in after him, shaking with excitement. “Hilda says they’ve found a body, on the other side of the swamp! Looks like an alligator attack, that’s what the boy that found the guy said!”  


Maury nodded. “We should head to them, then, mon ami.” He paused, looking cautiously back at the Rolf household. “What did you think of our missing man’s wife?”  


Willow frowned, and Maury sensed she was hesitant to speak ill of her elders. “Well, she seemed, a bit unhinged?”  


Maury snorted. “Mademoiselle, the woman used the past tense to refer to a man who has been missing barely a day, had a wall of husbands, and oscillated between hysterics and flirting. Between you and me, our illustrious client is nothing but a dirty old woman!” He started the car and muttered under his breath, “I would rather take my chances with Madame Hilda’s threats of bodily harm than another cup of Madame Rolf’s tea.”  


Their radio crackled. “I can hear you, Manseeur Maury! You should be careful what you wish. you misfile your report again and I may serve you more than tea!”  


Willow made a strangled noise and dove to switch off their radios. Maury shook his head and pressed the accelerator perhaps a little harder than he should have. Some days he wished he had just gone back to Paris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Until next time! Please comment if you happen to like. :)


	3. All Saints' Bar & Grille, New Orleans; October 1977

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a cold October evening in New Orleans, a night when strangers seek out one another for warmth, companionship...and maybe a bit more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I beg your forgiveness for any poor portrayals of Louisiana or Cajun culture. I mean no disrespect.  
> As always, great appreciation to my beta. One of these days, I'll figure you how to tag her in these notes. She was a huge help in this chapter, and her enthusiasm for the story keeps me going.

The smell of cigarettes and cheap whiskey permeated the air in the crowded, ill-lit All Saints’ Bar & Grille. It was nearing closing time, but no one seemed willing to leave the warmth for the cold, foggy evening outside.

A young woman sat at one end of the bar, slowly sipping whiskey from a highball glass. She twirled one of her white-blonde curls about her fingers as she eyed up the young man standing at the other end of the bar. When he glanced her way, not the first time that evening, she hid her smokey green eyes behind dark lashes and gave him a coy smile before turning back to her drink. 

Abigor had been making his rounds in the bar that evening, studying the women and men like a jeweler with precious gems: which should he choose? The russet-haired young man knew he cut quite a dashing figure, with his flamboyant satin suit and ethereal beauty; several girls had nearly fallen into him in their haste to make his acquaintance. But there was something about the pale beauty at the far end of the bar that kept drawing his eyes. She was interested, certainly, but unwilling to put herself out just for his attention. He’d watched her as she walked about the bar, her small frame accentuated by the tailored dark denim skirt and jacket that she wore. Her pink blouse brought a lovely flush to her face. She was a challenge, and he had finally made his mind up to accept.

Tucked away in a dark corner of the bar, a swarthy gentleman in a silk top hat watched with interest as Abigor made his way across the room. The observer’s thin mustache twitched at the dazzling smile that the young woman bestowed upon her admirer. Taking a sip of his beer, the man settled back in his chair, watching the young man and woman as they flirted over neat whiskeys and vodka. Twenty minutes later, when Abigor left with his satin-clad arm wrapped possessively around the blonde’s waist, the man in the top hat threw a few bills on his table and followed them out. He paused outside, reaching under his dark suit coat to check his revolver; it was loaded.

* * *

The couple came to a stop a short way from the bar. Abigor pulled the young woman into the alleyway, brushing a kiss over her cheek. “Come here, little lady,” he murmured in her ear. She giggled, allowing herself to be tugged along. He spun her in a circle and pressed her up against the brick wall; his hands snaked possessively around her waist. 

“I dated a redhead once,” she drawled, reaching up to comb her fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes in spite of himself; it felt good to be touched with love instead of clawed at in fear. “We had to break up; irreconcilable differences.” She was smiling sweetly by the time he looked back at her. 

“Ah, what a pity for him and what a pleasure for me,” he purred, his deep baritone laced with aristocratic french consonants. He cupped her face in his hand. She was a beauty; it was a pity this couldn’t go any further than tonight. He needed to learn how to keep the pretty ones as pets.

Something shifted in her eyes, but Abigor was too drunk on her warmth to notice. “True. She didn’t believe in all those supernatural creatures, but I do.” His eyes flicked to her face, to the sweet smile still on her lips. “You know, werewolves and banshees and….vampires.” Her voice hardened as she flung the word like an accusation and her eyes turned steely as they met his.

His eyes, that suddenly turned red. His hands gripped her shoulders, forcing her back against the wall. “Ah, a pity for you then, but still a pleasure for me.” Abigor smiled at her, his fangs appearing iridescent in the faint moonlight. He moved towards her neck. He never made contact. 

“If you say so, you son of a bitch.” Emmaline hissed, yanking a thin wooden stake out of his chest. Abigor fell backwards onto the pavement, eyes wide in shock for only a moment before the silver and iron runes imbedded in the stake completed their job, sealing him from life forever. Emmaline’s lip curled.

“Emmaline!” the frantic shout sounded from the main road. Emmaline’s head jerked up, and she replied with a sharp whistle. The mustached man from the bar came into view, his muddied jeans and drawn revolver contrasting sharply with his tailored suit coat and top hat. He took in the sight of the dead vampire and glanced up at the stake in Emmaline’s hand. “Mon cheri, are you alright?!”

She flashed him a cocky grin. “Just fine, Nonc ‘Mando. He moved in for the bite.” She shrugged as if she had simply swatted at an annoying mosquito.

Armand raised an eyebrow, his warm, cajun voice full of concern. “Le Bon Dieu! And he did not bite you, yes?” 

“Nope, just fine.” Emmaline pulled a set of silver handcuffs from under her jacket. “He should be quite dead, but just to be cautious.”

Armand nodded sharply. “You learn well, Cher Emmaline.” He glanced down at the vampire and sighed. “Mais, it would be nice to have known for sure if he was indeed the one responsible for the killings.” 

With her back turned to Armand, Emmaline allowed herself a small frown as she considered her response. She knew the redheaded vampire was their target, she’d known the moment she had touched his skin. But she couldn’t tell Armand that. “Ah, he told me,” she lied smoothly, turning back to Armand and flashing him a flirty smile. “I can be quite convincing when I want.”

“That you can be, Chere Emmaline. However, I wish you would have waited a moment for me, I lost you for a moment.”

She grinned again, holding up her stake. “I wasn’t worried.” 

Armand raised an eyebrow at the bloody stake. “Ah, but of course. You handle yourself well, Cher Emmaline. A worthy partner indeed.” A dying breed, he had been, before he’d met Emmaline. There weren’t many “paranormal investigators” left in southern Louisiana. Most had gone to places where the threat of ghost activity was not coupled with alligators. 

She twirled the stake expertly, eyes shining with wonder as it glittered in the moonlight. “Some days, I still marvel that you picked me.” 

Armand watched as her eyes clouded a bit then, old memories vying for her attention. He reached out a hand to comfort her. “Ah, the others, they tried my patience, mon cheri. For sure, you have a golden heart, a library for a mind, and bloodhound’s intuition.” And truth be told, it wasn’t everyday you found an eighteen year old southern belle facing down a lamia in a dark alley. 

Emmaline’s face cleared, and she beamed back at him as she completed their code: “And you, the patience of a snail!”

Armand nodded, a fatherly smile creasing his tanned face. “Mais, get that cleaned off. We can take him back to the po-po and let them wrap up. I do believe there’s a bit of that crawfish gumbo left back on the boat.” He tucked his revolver back into its holster and smoothed his brown vest down over the gold flannel beneath it. 

Emmaline grinned and pulled out a cloth to wipe down her stake. Armand chuckled softly to himself. It was good seeing the girl happy for a change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Mon cheri: my dear  
> Nonc: Uncle  
> Le Bon Dieu: Good Lord  
> Mais: well  
> Chere: my dear
> 
> This chapter was shorter than I intended, as I had planned to head back over to Oak Pont. Armand, Emmaline, and Abigor had other plans, and I decided this chapter should be a stand-alone. We'll be heading back to check on Willow and Maury next.  
> Also, apologies for the delay. My health was misbehaving this week and put me behind. Let me know what you think!!


End file.
